Les Battantes
by Catharina Joelle
Summary: When Katherine's family is arrested, she desperately flees to her Cousin Grantaire in Paris. He introduces her to Les Amis, they are impressed by her attitude towards the state's government. In between the plannings of a revoution, Katherine gets to see the real characters of the rebels-and there's one that, for some reson, attracts her like nothing else. A fight for love begins.
1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

**Hey :)**

**So, this is my first English story, even though it's not my first fanfiction, but until now I wrote only in German. :3**

**So, please, don't excuse any spelling mistakes or grammar errors, but show me, if you find some... I'd be really glad if you would help me. And any ...well, basically bizarre formulations - I'd be happy to change them :)**

**Please review, if you like the story :) It's always very motivating, if you know, people like your story...:)**

**Well, I definetely use that little 'if' to often... so, just tell me your opinion, I'd love to hear it!**

**Yeah, and well, I broke this chapter down into two, because the first one was just too long. Enjoy anyways!**

**Love,**  
**Catharina 3**

**Chapter I.**

Katherine had taken the man to target, which her father had chosen for today. He really looked promising.  
The bourgeoisie's face seemed very young, but his stiff gait betrayed his true age. Katherine guessed him to be in his late forties. Just some curls of his dark hair peeked out from under his shiny black hat, his face was clean and obviously freshly shaven. He wore a long black coat, it was a cold winter, below, and the tips of his leathery shoes peeped out. In one hand he swung a cane; in the other he held a paper bag. The odor flowing out revealed that there was fresh bread.  
He walked past the alley where Katherine remained hidden, but as he went on, she left her ambush and followed him initially unremarkable. Her gaze rested on the slightly protruding coat pocket of the lord - where she suspected his wallet.  
She followed him into the crowded marketplace. Even from a distance she saw her father and her brother, who stood in their posts. As soon as she entered the crowd she almost lost sight of them. Between the many people she had to reach up to the top to see the two - she was not very tall.

But even between all the citizens she only reached up to the nose, she could hear the low whistle of the piccolo - the signal for the realization of the plan. She remained close to the heels of the man, always fixing on his hat, which stood out from the crowd. And then she was already pushed towards his back, the task of her brother. She stumbled against the man and skillful reached into his coat. She had been right. Her fingers immediately wrapped around a full purse. She drew it out and handed it discreetly to her passing father's hand.

"Excuse-moi, monsieur." Politely, she apologized to the man, pretending it had been n accident, but he nodded anyway and then sullenly continued his way shuffling.  
Katherine sighed with relief. He hadn't noticed anything.

But instead of returning home to celebrate the victory, like her father and her brother probably did, Katherine backed down into the lonelier streets of Toulon. Her destination was a soot-smeared wall, where especially young people often left exuberant expressions and sayings.  
Katherine indeed loved this place, because of its silence, because of its abandonment. Here were no children throwing stones at her when she walked by, any adult threatening to call the police, no young students making fun of her worn-out clothes.  
Katherine had no friends in Toulon, nobody. At home, it was no better: her father, the former wealthy merchant trader Monsieur Dupont had his entire hope for the future in his son; the firstborn daughter was more of a plague. It had always been that way, in the dark-haired girl he hadn't seen anything useful, but when the mother of the ten and twelve year old children had died, anger and grief added to the father's moods. Katherine had spent the last seven years as a scapegoat. Her brother made a mistake, but was called to account; the money ran out, she received the blows. From her father's last tantrum she still wore some scars on the face.

The lord's wallet had fed the little family well for a little while, but the fact that Monsieur Dupont had to pay off numerous debts, everything was already gone two months later.  
So they set up a new plan and in the morning mist of a February day they huddled together in an alley, placed so that they had a clear view of the entrance to the library. Several times a day, wealthy gentlemen crossed this place and exactly someone like this, Monsieur Dupont hoped to rob.  
Katherine could feel this unpleasant feeling of excitement spreading through her when the first gentleman, wearing a coat, trousers and a frock coat, crossed the square. For a second she stood there stiffly, but receiving a painful poke in the ribs from her father, she remembered, what to do. Immediately she took her role, knelt down and played the injured girl. With apparently severe pain she whimpered and made a suffering face.  
"Monsieur, monsieur." Monsieur Dupont playing frantically ran out on the square towards the bourgeoisie. He turned around immediately, obviously worried about Monsieur Dupont's agitated demeanor. "Monsieur," he repeated again and then, breathing heavily, stopped in front of the Lord. "It's about my daughter ... she ... she injured her foot. We have to carry her home, but I can't do alone. "  
The lord understood the request. He nodded and then followed Monsieur Dupont.  
Katherine was still kneeling with a suffering face on the ground; her brother had hidden like their plan scheduled. Her performance seemed to be convincing, the lord immediately comforted her. "Does it hurt, my child?" He asked maternal and stroke her dark hair.  
"Well, if you could take her feet? "Monsieur Dupont begged and the lord gently picked up her legs.  
It was the moment in which Katherine's brother left his hiding place and crept up behind the lord, trying to steal his money, as his face went pale "Pol ... Police!" He stammered and immediately the lord turned around. He instantly understood, what was going on. He let go of Katherine's legs. She crashed on the floor and this time, she really whimpered in pain.  
Her father had let go of her, too and while she was still lying on the ground, Monsieur Dupont and his son already began to run.  
Katherine had no view for the lord, even though, as kind as he was, she felt sorry for him. She got up and sprinted away. Behind her, she could already hear the cops' calls and their heavy footsteps. She accelerated and turned from into a small run-down street, where she remained hidden behind a cart, crouching on the ground, eyes still free to see the empty square. "Seeing and hearing, the most important thing," Monsieur Dupont had always said and although Katherine sincerely detested him, she knew he had been right.  
And then she saw the coppers, storming the square, behind them the crimson-with- rage lord. Katherine scanned the area for her father and brother, but couldn't spot their dark tufts in the pale morning light.

And yet - there was a rattling sound like a metal bucket falling over and the police men launched in the direction the noise had come from. Katherine's frightful anticipation was right - only a short time later they dragged Monsieur Dupont and Katherine's brother by the collar on the court to present them to the robbed lord.  
"Those two, Monsieur?" One of the policemen asked and the lord nodded, his face grim. His expression showed satisfaction and gratification and all of a sudden, Katherine's sympathy disappeared.  
She stifled a startled gasp as the main cop made a quick decision.  
"Put them to jail - for a week, a month, a year. I don't care. "He turned a last time to the lord."These were all of 'em?"  
For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten Katherine indeed, even fifty yards away from her hiding place she could see his grin fading as he remembered. "No. There was another girl. She can't be far."  
Katherine held her breath again. She began praying while she helplessly watched her father and her brother being dragged away. They did not defend themselves.  
God must've heard Katherine's prayer as the remaining men of the police sensed her trail in the wrong direction.  
Once they entered into an opposite lane and were out of sight and earshot, Katherine left her hiding place and hurried home.

There were unprofitable days for Katherine. After the last unsuccessful raid she couldn't find a single coin around the house. She was afraid of trying again, scarcely dared to leave the house. She prayed for her father to not reveal their whereabouts in prison.  
On the third day she was still sitting with an empty stomach in the small hut that served as the Dupont family's home. Restless and agitated, she continued further searches around the house, desperate about finding something to eat or a little money - although she had sifted every room several times. She opened every drawer in the miserable furniture, felt in every nook and controlled the straw-filled corners that served as their beds. She went through the stacks of paper on her father's desk when she stopped on a letter.  
It was addressed to Monsieur René Grantaire, Paris. The envelope was already paid, the stamp clearly emblazoned on the front. Katherine tried to bear her mind why that name seemed so familiar.  
But she couldn't remember. There was no face she brought into relation with the name, and she knew nothing of any relatives.  
For a while they sat there brooding, the unopened envelope in her hands. Respect to her father and the fear of his reaction had initially discouraged her from reading the letter, but as the day was drawing into evening outside the windows and the impatient growl of her stomach grew louder, she finally tore it open with a single motion.  
She only had to read the first line.  
_Dearest nephew ..._  
Yes, that surely sounded a lot like her father, wanting their relative's money. Much more, however, the image of a dark-haired youth appeared in her mind, a grin on the sun tanned face, the eyes dark and sparkling. Of course she knew him, Grantaire, her cousin with the crazy humor, even though it was new to her, that he lived in Paris. Well, they hadn't had contact for several years. She felt bad that she had not come to him immediately.  
It was the next morning, which brought her the crazy idea. Maybe it was the memory of a promise.  
_It was summer when she had met Grantaire the last time. That year, she had been thirteen years old, it was shortly after her mother's death. She had gotten on well with the slightly older cousin - and she finally told him about the torture coming from her father. He hadn't taken the whole thing very seriously, but then he had stroked her hair and said:"If things ever should be too bad, Riquiqui, then you'll just come at my house."  
_Katherine did not hesitate. It was time to honor the promise spoken so many years ago._  
_After all, her family was sitting in jail and who knee how long they would remain there? And what would happen then? She would continue her life equally dismal, depending on the loss of others. And as she would never get out of her filthy rags, certainly there would be no one to marry her, so she could escape this life. Monsieur Dupont would doubtlessly expulse poor Katherine on the dirty streets of Toulon.  
So she grabbed the few things she possessed and then left without a last look back. She certainly wouldn't miss it.

In a market in another part of town – at her area, she did not dare, of fear that the local police would recognize her - she exchanged two cups, which she had taken a precaution, in coins, and at noon she finally boarded the coach to Paris .  
In her life, Katherine had never been outside of Toulon - the world she entered, was exciting and new. She sat at the window of the coach, the view of the fields, watching undeveloped land pass.  
For the first time in her life she felt free. No longer had the constant threat of her father lasted on her and she hoped to leave the life of charity and rags behind.  
By one hand, uncomfortable, but then again even jerking she slowly began to get tired. Finally, her head fell against the wall of the carriage, and she fell into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter II

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter was already up, I just seperated it from the first one - they were just too long together...**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter II.

"Hey, wake up, brat!" She sat up, something loud and impatient crashed against the carriage wall. It was the mustachioed, grumpy driver who repeatedly struck his stick against the door and looked at her from his angry little pig eyes. " Get off." He opened the door, pulled her out and pushed her along with her bag onto the street. The carriage left, further accompanied by the clatter of hooves.  
Katherine picked up the bag and looked around. It had to be late evening, it had been dark for a while, but clouds covered the moon. In front of her Paris' surrounding wall rose from the ground, massive and threatening, they strained towards the sky. A friable feeling took possession of her as she walked towards the gate, as if she was walking straight into a predator's open mouth.  
The guards let her pass, even at this late hour, but cast a suspicious look on her tattered rags and bare feet, clad in rough wooden slippers.  
Ahead of her lay a wide boulevard. The hour was late, only few people were on the road. It seemed even larger than in daylight. In straight rows, houses grew from the ground on both sides, sometimes leaving a gap space for a small alley. But the pretty facades of buildings and the well-dressed citizens on the street showed Katherine, she obviously had entered the rich side of town. Even though she imagined her cousin had rented a stately home, she was certain, it wasn't in this district.  
She stepped towards a street lamp – she hadn't seen any in Toulon - and the oil lamp's light she took a look on the address on the envelope.  
_Rue De La Court_  
She hesitated for a second, but then went up towards an elderly man whose hand held a similarly aged woman. "Monsieur, you know this road?" She asked, holding out the envelope under his nose.  
He grunted, his fleshy nose pulled up, he scratched his neck – but then he shook his head.  
Katherine was disappointed, but said goodbye with a "thank you" anyway, adding a little curtsy.  
But even as she followed the boulevard and asked the watchman for the street, he shook his head. Not even a baker, still cleaning his store, could give her information.  
Slowly Katherine's hope about her plan began to despair. It may had sounded brilliant at first, but just as quickly as she had begun – as quickly her dream seemed to collapse right in front of her feet.  
Discouraged, she sat on the edge of a fountain. As she watched the water rippling in front of her, she realized how thirsty she was, she hadn't drunk anything since the last evening. With her hands she drew some water from the basin and brought it towards her mouth. She was shivering with cold, and when she shed very little of it onto her skirt, she immediately felt a shudder.  
Now, at least her thirst was quenched, but this made her even more aware of how much the hunger gnawed at her. She would've been too pleased to go back to the bakery and ask for a piece of bread, but she feared of another scuffed look from the baker.

She sighed, scraped the tousled hair back from her face and stood up. The bag in her hand, she continued walking, but now her steps seemed slowly and hopeless. Any transitory would have expected her to be on her way to the scaffold.  
She reached an intersection, forming a Y with the boulevard, where a signpost pointed to two different parts of the city. One was St. Degas, the other Saint-Michele. The latter reminded her of a story that her brother had been told once, she had been listening from the corner.  
_"In Saint-Michele only poorest people live. I was there, my son. Fleas jump at you from any corner. You know, Saint-Michele is the area of the poor and students. Yes, it surely attracts the youth," _Monsieur Dupont had said.  
Youth ... Katherine tried to estimate Grantaire's age nowadays - 25, 26? She wasn't sure, but an inexplicable feeling forced her to take the course to Saint-Michele. A part of her, the one in which was a small, last bit of hope left, knew that maybe there was something else to see. A poverty-stricken area, seedy people ... That was what she knew already.  
And as the night progressed, she chose the left lane.  
It was obvious that it led to the poorer districts. The houses were increasingly fragile and ugly, the roads always dirty, and the smell grew. Here and there, Katherine saw figures wrapped in blankets sitting in corners, old people, who had lost the roof over their heads. But most of them were asleep and she did not dare to wake one of them to ask for the way.  
A bad feeling grew inside Katherine. As she stood in the center of the poor district, she had left the previous night lights behind her long ago; around her was almost complete darkness. Light rarely shone from homes - it was long after midnight. She passed a rundown shack which's roof had collapsed and the front wall was completely destroyed, the view was free to the inside. A woman was lying on a table, another figure was slept in a pile of straw.  
The silence felt eerie. Solely the icy wind was carried through the night as it ran around the houses, whistling, apart from Katherine's teeth chattering. She was so cold by now that even the trembling had stopped, but her fingers and feet felt numb and breathing hurt.  
Close to tears, she put her head back, looking up into the sky, like she always did when pondering. Up to now this habit had only brought her crooked, incredulous glances, but as she lifter her head this, she suddenly stood still.  
In the darkness, she hardly would've recognized, but a ray of light from a low house fell on a house wall with a street name. _Rue de la Court._  
Katherine stifled an enjoyed scream, suddenly she felt a little bit warmer. She had found it, she really had found it!  
She stepped into the alley, as dark as the previous one, and looked at the names on the doors. Deganiér, Lutôt, Alberique. Grantaire. She held her breath as she narrowed her eyes to examine the nine letters. But in fact, it had to be this house.  
The door wasn't locked, so she entered, climbing up the few steps to the top where his apartment was. This door wasn't shut, too, it was even slightly ajar. Cozy warmth oozed from interior, but there was an unpleasant odor of alcohol with it.  
For a second she stood there double-minded, but eventually her desire for warmth won. She stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her.  
Still, she stopped. You could barely make out the shadowy outline, only rough silhouettes were identified. But from a corner she could hear deep snoring.  
Suddenly, she felt so tired. Even though had spent the last day sleeping in the coach, it hadn't been a relaxing rest and, adding to that, she had walked around the last few hours through the freezing cold night of Paris. It seemed warm here, it seemed cozy.  
She put her bag down next to her, then slipped into the direction from where the breath came. She grimaced as she got closer, the smell of alcohol became stronger.  
And there he was, in fact, in a bed, his face buried in a pillow. This was Grantaire, she was sure about that, even though the only thing that Katherine could currently identify of him, was his black hair. She took another step closer, when a loud noise resounded, then a glass bottle rolled across the stone floor aloud. She couldn't suppress a curse and looked anxiously to Grantaire, but he continued sleeping calmly.  
At this time Katherine had figured out that he was obviously completely drunk, he didn't move at all and the strong smell of alcohol was to be explained easily.  
Well, she thought to herself as she slipped out of her wooden shoes, he won't notice.  
Just like a little child, afraid of a bad dream at night, she climbed over her sleeping cousin and snuggled up behind him in the soft comforter. It was the first time that she was enjoying the luxury of a bed.  
It was warm, it was cozy, well, let's say, it took less than five minutes, until Katherine's eyes were closed tight and she fell into deep and dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter III

Chapter III.

"Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle! "

A man's deep, confused voice tangled into Katherine's placid sleep. The next moment she felt a gentle shake at her shoulder.

She opened her eyes a crack. In front of her was a white wall and when she moved, she felt softness below herself. She was lying in a cosy place and sleep still had his arms around her. She wished nothing more than to close her eyes and daze off again.

But slowly, she began to wake up and all of a sudden the whole truth was back. She sat up with a flick.

She was in a messy room, a window on the opposite side. Through the open shutters light came into the room and lit up the plain white walls, the stone granite floor, the blue-painted ceiling. She could recognize a small dresser below spread garments, scattered papers and open books covered a low coffee table. The room seemed chaotic and untidy, but still comfortable.

At last, her eyes wandered to the person in front of her. Propped up on his thighs, she looked at a young, dark-haired man, whose eyes showed a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. They were still slightly swollen and his tangled curls told her he hadn't been awake for very long. Still, he finally managed to speak to her.  
"Mademoiselle ... We didn't...?" A certain glimmer of hope was to hear in his voice, driving blush into Katherine's cheeks. Frantically, she shook her head.  
"You're Grantaire," she said.  
He nodded, his curls bouncing at every movement. "Yes, I am, Mademoiselle. But, how about you tell me what you're doing in my bed? Did you come home with me last night? Please, Mademoiselle, forgive me, I was quite ... intoxicated. "  
Katherine shook her head again and finally slipped to the edge of the bed to get up. "I'm Katherine, your cousin. From Toulon," she added, when she saw his confused look, but still, his face didn't show any recognition. "You said if I ever have problems, I can always come to you," she tried a last time.  
She was successful. His face spread a grin. "Ah ... Katherine - Le Petite Renardeau."  
Now it was Katherine turn to smile. That he had chosen to still remembered that nickname. Little Fox. Yes, he'd like to tease her like that.  
"Well," Grantaire became serious. "Tell me the reason why you accepted a promise made years ago."

And Katherine began to tell him about her home situation not improving since their last meeting. About the theft, about her family's arrest. About the letter with his address, and lastly, about her flight from Toulon.  
She was at the point, where she'd found his house, when collywobbles interrupted her story. Amazingly, she had forgotten her hunger for some time actually.  
Grantaire responded immediately. He got up and walked through a door. Beyond lay the kitchen, a white panelled room with a nice pantry, cupboards and even a small stove for cooking. Although the pristine metal revealed that it was underused.  
Grantaire opened his cupboard and began to enumerate. "What can I offer you? Well ... Pickles? Anchovies? Eggs? – Oh yes! „Looking quite proud, he took out two shrivelled, small apples and a more or less fresh loaf of bread."Renardeau, you showed up in a food-rich time!"  
They sat down at the kitchen table and Grantaire watched Katherine eating. She ate like a starving lion, without manners and hasty. Almost as if she was afraid they might take away her food again when it took too long to be eaten.  
In no time her plate was empty and for the first time in over a week, she felt a pleasant feeling of saturation.

The rest in the next few days did her good. She stayed at home most of the time, she had no warm clothes to go outside, but anyway, inside the flat it was warm and cosy. She flipped through his books many times, and for once she was grateful to her mother, who had taught her secretly and despite the ban of Monsieur Dupont how to read and write. Certainly, the lack of practice had made her skills rusty, but after a few hours of repetition, she began to become more fluid.  
She supported Grantaire as best as she could. In the morning he left the house early, as it happens, he was a student at a university in Paris, but seemed to focus more in drinking than learning. After leaving college, he was working Mondays to Thursdays in a small family business – his parents paid his studies, but he had to come up for the costs of living himself. Katherine had repeatedly offered to pick him up from work, but most of the time, the student rushed straight to a café - a "daily commitment," he called it. He came home after midnight, when Katherine had gone to bed long ago, often drunk and staggering. If he came to her into bed - he had insisted for her to stay there, even though she would've also been happy with a bag of straw on the floor - he woke her up, but his quiet breathing in sleep quickly brought her back into her dreams.

She was surprised that he had received her so quickly. He did not earn much, but he had invited to his house and was willing to share his home with her.

Saturday began and for the first time Grantaire didn't have to leave the house sleepy and with a hangover at sunrise. He was still asleep when Katherine opened her eyes and stood up.  
Undetermined she was standing in the middle of the room, when she remembered the kitchen stove. A smile spread across her face. Even though she didn't have any experiences about cooking, she was sure, some eggs weren't too difficult.  
It took her a while to find a pan, because, contrary to her expectation her cousin kept his kitchen equipment not on the cabinets, but in his pantry. She beat the eggs, fired the stove with little match and soon the smell of fried omelette filled the air. Katherine was proud of herself, she hadn't even burnt anything.  
As if on command Grantaire was standing in the kitchen door, his hair tousled and messy as ever, the body just covered by a long shirt. He looked surprised when he took a seat on the wooden bench and Katherine passed a plate.  
"You can cook?" He asked, obviously surprised.  
Katherine shook her head. "No, it was an experiment."  
"I see, and I was probably your guinea pig."  
"Something like that."  
"Am I supposed to be frightened?"  
"Scared to death."  
Grantaire threw Katherine a last amused grin, then he picked up the tine fork and began to shovel. Katherine watched him happy.

"Grantaire - can I ask you a favour?" Katherine asked shyly after breakfast.  
"Anything, Renardeau."  
"Well, actually, there are two."  
"Let's hear 'em." Half out the door, he stopped in lacing his boots and looked up to her.  
"Stop calling me Renardeau."  
"Rejected." Katherine sighed at his response, she hadn't expected anything else.  
"And... Can I borrow a jacket or something? I'd like to take a look at Paris, but I only own this dress. I don't want to be cold again."  
For a moment Grantaire looked at her in disbelief, then he took a pile of clothes away from the dresser and revealed a dark blue jacket with cuff links, similar to the one he always wore himself. "Pleasure, Renardeau."

The jacket was actually very warm, even though it had appeared thin at first. Well, her feet were still miserably cold, but asking her cousin for another favour seemed quite brazen.  
It was the first time she saw the Parisian streets in daylight and she realized, that this area of saint-Michele actually wasn't that run down. Well, the houses weren't as noble as those at the town gate, but all were considered and looked fairly steadfast against wind and weather. The road seemed cleaner, even though the odor was still as strong. Katherine, however, had become used to it long ago.  
She was walking along the Rue De La Court, it ended in a small, squared space. It was Saturday morning; few people were travelling so the streets were as lonely as when she had arrived.  
She went on straight and finally came to a marketplace. Although it was empty, a sign on a wall clearly stated all the rules and opening times. Dealers were only allowed to sell their products Mondays to Fridays, any violations would be punished.  
After about two hours the cold on her feet became too unbearable and she returned to Grantaires home.

Behind another door was a small bathroom, tiled in blue and green, with a large tub. Water was to be brought from a little house in the backyard, were it was heated over a fire during days. Katherine took the bucket and went down into the yard. To fill the bathtub, she had to run four times, but it had the advantage that the previously boiling water could cool off.  
Finally, she undressed and got inside. A blissful sigh escaped her as she plunged into the warm water; she had seldom experienced such a luxury. In Toulon, they had mostly washed out in the rain or in the river, where the water was especially in winters very cold. It was no comparison to the paradise in which she was at that moment.  
She stayed in the tub for a long time, not until her skin was soft and shrivelled; she stood up and wrapped one of the hard linen towels around her chest. Then she took the torn rags dress, still the only one she owned, and washed it in the already dirty water. It was even mire gray when she finally took the sodden dress out and hung it over the edge to dry.  
Only wearing her undergarments, she returned to the living room. Her eyes recognised the numerous clothes lying around and after a brief hesitation; she reached for a white shirt and pants and put them on. Proving her expectations, they were both too big and hung on her like a sack, Grantaire was a good head taller than her, but she liked the soft feeling. A book in her hands, she cuddled into his bed and lost herself inside the story.

She was surprised when the door opened already at afternoon and a sober Grantaire entered. He carried several boxes, decorated with colourful ribbons.  
He stepped up to her, smiling. "I brought you something," he said with a grin and put down the boxes in front of her on the mattress.  
Katherine lifted her head in wonder, drew the top package to her and opened it.  
Her eyes widened as she got the deep red fabric to face. It was good stuff, firm yet soft, embroidered with flowers. Katherine looked incredulously at Grantaire, he smiled encouragingly and went in her place to take out of the whole dropped to the ground, was almost Grantaires whole body length. It was a dress, the most beautiful that Katherine had ever gotten that close to her eyes. Incredibly, she thought, and touched the long skirt, looked at the bodice, admired the sleeves. This dress was a work of art itself.  
But that was not the only surprise Grantaire had. In the next few boxes hid another dress - earthy, more for everyday wear -, socks, underwear, a coat and boots.  
Katherine could barely think straight. Grantaire had just bought more for her than she had ever owned in her life. Silently, she sat there wide-eyed, until she finally gasped a breathless "Thank you!" She looked at him, then leaned on her knees and gave him a stormy hug. "Thanks, thanks, thanks, thanks," she repeated over and over again, laughing with joy. Katherine tried the red dress first and went to look at herself in the mirror above the dresser.  
To the scruffy girl who had arrived a week ago in Paris, no resemblance was obvious. Through the bath her hair was shiny and smooth, her face was clean, and the dress gave her a special dress princess-like appearance. Of course, that was not a dress to wear on an ordinary day on the road, but who knew what celebrations Grantaire had planned, when he had purchased it.

But the very next day, Grantaire was gone, she felt her guilty conscience. Katherine's cousin had willingly shared his small apartment with her, fed them from his hard-earned money and now had even bought her a full set of clothes. She felt guilty, as she could not return anything.  
Finally, she decided to do something for him as well. Her first thought was to make money, eventually they would find it missing most, but that was easier said than done: Katherine did not have any skills or experience, the only talents she had were stealing and lying - at least when the police or robbing gentlemen were to be lied to.  
She grinned to herself when she had an idea.

She put her plan for the next morning. Once Grantaire had left the house for university, she put on the everyday dress, the jacket and the soft boots and ran out onto the streets. She took the road to the market that she had already discovered two days earlier.  
As suspected, the bright place was now full of people who had errands to do or wished to offer their goods. For a while she sat on a railing, watching the people. Many looked dirt poor, her conscience wouldn't have allowed to steal from them. A gentleman, however, arm in arm with a woman who had the face of a toad, appeared to be slightly more affluent. His face was clean and well maintained; he wore a regular coat and frock coat with his arms full of packs. He had bought a lot.  
He was the perfect victim. Apparently rich enough to live well, but on the other hand, compared to the richer gentlemen too poor to live in wealthier neighborhoods.  
While the couple walked up to a booth with fish, Katherine slipped off the railing and made her way through the crowd. She already knew what she would do - the simple trick of bumping into the people usually worked in such a situation.  
She was near to the couple, could smell the woman's exaggerated applied, cheap perfume, see the clips in her graying hair. She watched as the man chose two magnificent salmons from the counter and while having them wrapped, he reached into his left coat pocket and revealed a thick wallet at paying. Katherine unobtrusively followed him as it sank back into his coat pocket and walked to the next booth, this time obviously more interested in looking than in buying.  
It did not take much acting to do, stumbling from behind and plunging into the couple. With a smooth, swift movement Katherine excerpted the wallet and had it disappeared into her garter, hidden by her skirt, before the Lord had once again gotten up.  
"Monsieur, I'm so sorry," apologized Katherine in mock innocence and put on a frightened face.  
"Better watch it, next time!" Snapped the woman at his left and the wrinkles and the large number of excess skin on her face trembled threatening. Katherine could see her saliva spreading when she continued yelling: "You young people, you have no respect for the older generation. You should be crawling at our feet, but what do you do? Your laugh at us." After a final disgusted sneer, she turned to the man next to her: ".Come on, Bernarde, let's leave this brat behind us." And she pulled him away from Katherine...  
She ran home, with fast pace, but not too quickly. That would have looked suspicious. Only after she had locked the door behind her and the shutters closed as a precaution, she lit some candles and took the purse from her skirt.

She could hardly believe what she saw. Five-franc notes welled from the side compartment and when she opened the bag with the coins a handful of silver coins tumbled out.

Well, it seemed like this little adventure had turned out pretty successful.


End file.
